


Stuff and Nonsense

by grammaryl



Series: Stuff and Nonsense [1]
Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Watolock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:30:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammaryl/pseuds/grammaryl
Summary: Her train leaves in less than forty minutes, so it's really nothing, just some spare time to take in her surroundings, watch the water flow by, disappear round the bend --Over the edge.Like Sherlock.





	1. Vanilla and Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> This took on a life of its own. There may be more coming.
> 
> Unbeta'd. Also my first written contribution to the fandom. I'm definitely better with photoshop.
> 
> Find me over at andilaughatmyself.tumblr.com
> 
> Title taken from the Split Enz song. Go listen to it. Now.

She's early for her train, because that's just the way she is.

The problem of course, is now she has to wait.

And think.

She's been avoiding that since...

Wato shakes her head.

Her train leaves in less than forty minutes, so it's really nothing, just some spare time to take in her surroundings, watch the water flow by, disappear round the bend --

_Over the edge._

Like Sherlock.

Wato closes her eyes. Buries her nose in the Hermes coat. It still smells of copper and ammonia. Exactly the way it had on that first day.

It's been three months since.

She'd spent all of it in Tokyo, walking the same streets, seeing the same buildings, stepping over the same cracks in the pavement. She'd found 221B with google maps the first time, then made note of where Sherlock dragged her that first night. She'd soon learned where to turn right and where to turn left, where to shop for new clothes, where to find Asamiya tea and where home suddenly became.

Three months spent beside her.

Sherlock is embedded in this place. Her perfume -- vanilla, with a hint of lavender -- is all over 221B, lingering in the books and in the cushions, as if Sherlock had just stepped out, not been --

Wato lifts her head and opens the coat. The ammonia is stronger on the inside, and she breathes it in, feels it catch in her throat. She'd done the same thing while staring at Sherlocks leather seat, trying to force the smell away, make the memories go away with it.

It must be in her clothes, because it's still there. It's still curiously hanging around.

"Leave me alone," Wato whispers to no one in particular.

"No."

Wato stiffens. Looks down at the coat. She's breathed in too deeply, that's all. The ammonia has gone to her --

"Wato."

_It can't --_

She'd watched them put her in the _ground_.

"Eliminate the impossib--"

Wato whips around, throwing the jacket as she storms forward. It hits Sherlock in the face, stunning her into silence.

"You **asshole**!" Wato shoves Sherlock square in the chest, the taller woman stumbling back.

_She cant just be -- she cant just expect --_

She's deceived her.

It's all been a lie.

Wato feels her chest explode with anger, pushes Sherlock again, and again and again and --

 

\----------

 

Sherlock tries to grab Watos hands, misses them twice, then catches them against her chest. She holds on tightly, remembering the way these hands had shaken not that long ago.

_There's no gun, she hasn't got a --_

"Listen to me," Sherlock pleads. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No you're not." Wato states, still pushing, trying to hurt.

"I am. I am Wato. I'm sorry."

Sherlock steps in closer to lock Watos hands between them, then lifts her fingers to cup red cheeks, wisps of hair tickling her knuckles.

"I'm sorry."

She says it again and again, holding Watos eyes with her own.

Finally, she sees it click; feels the anger dissipating along with the tension in her friends body. She has just enough time to press Wato underneath her chin and wrap her arms around her before the sobs escape. Hands grip the lapels of her coat. They hold on fiercely, hold on like they won't ever let go.

She knows she wouldn't mind that.

She'd let her hold on forever.

Sherlock blinks away her tears and tightens her grip.

Wonders, not for the first time, just how much this woman means to her.

 

\----------

 

Kento regards them from where he's leaning against the car, waiting.

He'd expected -- no, hoped -- that Wato would be a good influence on his sister. Maybe soften out her edges, make her a little bit more bearable to others.

He hadn't expected to hear she'd shot someone to save Tokyo. Broken into numerous places in an effort to get Wato home. Toyed with the police over a bottle of lavender.

Dived off a building clutching a madwoman.

_Lined up her heart with a loaded gun._

Kento shakes his head. This was his sister. Of course she'd done all of those things. It's how she wore her heart on her sleeve.

He'd gotten a job in Tokyo, and she'd followed a week later. He'd suffered a nasty case of glandular fever when he was fifteen. She'd brought home his homework and made sure he did it while eating his dinner. They were told their parents had died in a plane crash and she'd taken the blame for the broken lamp he'd thrown.

He'd told her she was useless in that horrid woman's office, but he'd been wrong. Wato was safe because his sister had been so emotional. Because she cared, more deeply than she'd shown. She'd put it all on the line for her.

He looks at them, and sees Sara holding Wato. Not Sherlock. Not the persona she hides behind. He imagines Wato has slowly worked at the sharp edges; instead of blunting them the way he'd hoped, she's rubbed away a gap, small and barely there, and found a way into Sherlock, to where Sara resides.

He knows it's love.

He wonders if Sara remembers enough of the emotion to realise it herself.

 

\----------

 

Her tears are gone. Sherlock's shirt is damp underneath her cheek, but she doesn't mind. It's comforting.

It means she's here.

It means she's--

Oh.

_No._

Wato involuntarily shudders, hands tightening on Sherlock's coat, her heart in her throat. Feels the dread sink in, remembers words in her ear, remembers the gun, remembers--

"They locked her away Wato. She's gone."

She feels fingers under her chin, urging her to look up. When she does, she sees Sherlock's resolve blazing in reddened brown eyes.

"She can't hurt you, do you understand?"

Wato exhales slowly, feeling her chest loosen. Focuses on breathing in the vanilla and the lavender. Nods carefully. Sherlock peers back at her, gauging her acknowledgement of the situation.

"I mean it. I won't let..." Her words trail off and she shuts her eyes.

Wato wonders what she's thinking, wonders where that brilliant mind has gone.

She waits.

The hand near her chin disappears and makes its way back around her. Pulls her closer.

Wato's just about to say something when Sherlock leans in and settles her forehead against hers.

Opens her eyes and says: "She'll never hurt you again. _I'll_ never hurt you again. I swear it."

Its steady and sure and true, Wato knows. Her heart quickens in an entirely different way.

 

\----------

 

There are way too many variables in the world to be making such a--

Circumstances beyond her control, like the weather and earthquakes and salmonella enterica and abnormal cell growth, and damn _metal fatigue._

Sherlock lifts her head abruptly at the sound of the latest train rolling by; remembers getting on the London tube a few months after the accident, and wondering, if they'd just caught one of these instead, they'd be safe. They'd be alive. They were only visiting friends in Osaka.

_If they were so pressed for time, they should've gone earlier._

Sherlock sighs. That's not how it went and she knows it. If she'd gotten her fingers out of the way of the car door, then they--

"Sherlock?"

Wato.

She turns her head back, finds Wato worriedly looking up at her.

"Where'd you go?"

Sherlock knows she'll have to tell her. The whole story, from start to horrible finish. Right now, she hasn't got the time. Or at least, she wants to make sure Wato makes the decision for herself.

She owes her that much.

"Your train will be here soon."

She sees it dawn in those brown eyes, sees it flicker into confusion for a moment, then into resolution.

Steadfast certainty.

"You're buying me dinner tonight," Wato explains. "And you're doing the laundry for the next week, no, month...that should cover this wasted ticket."

Wato smiles and Sherlock realises it's a commitment. Wato's committed herself. After all she's put her through this week -- no, since they've met -- she's still willing to be here.

With her.

Sherlock feels a sudden surge of emotion, feels it welling up, threatening to spill over. She's blinked it away already, but she finds she doesn't want to again. If Wato's willing to meet her halfway, then she has to be willing to meet her right back.

She closes her eyes and lets it out. Lets it go.

She loves this woman.

She feels Wato shift in her arms, then thumbs brushing at her wet cheeks.

"It's okay." Wato whispers. "We're okay."

There's a long pause.

Then a chuckle from Wato.

"My mother's going to give me the biggest lecture about this."

Sherlock opens her eyes. Sees the amusement. Sees Wato offering her something else to focus on.

She decides to takes it. "Send her a card."

"Well, they don't really make cards for when people come back from the dead."

"Wato, there's an entire Christian holiday based around it."

 

\----------

 


	2. Words through the apartment door.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a yellowing bruise on her hip as proof of what she'd been willing to do. What she'd just ruined because she'd let her emotions make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Read at your own peril. 
> 
> I can't believe I just read a grammar book for y'all.
> 
> Thanks to bigchickcannibalistic for the discussion and the dopey grin and her brilliant, brilliant fics.

 

Well.

That's it then.

They've made the right decision.

Sara's made the right decision.

Kento watches Wato wipe at his sisters cheeks, and his heart aches.

He'd tried to convince her to be reasonable, of course.

To remember that the police were still looking for her, despite the fact that Moriya had died from the virus. She'd been quiet for a long time after hearing that; the bravado of Sherlock had given way to a shocked Sara, and the rose in her hand had shaken, plastic crinkling in the silence of the car.

_("She deserves the truth Kento.")_

He leans around and peers through the glass, sees the rose where Sara had placed it on the dashboard. She'd held it in her lap, gaze never leaving it the entire drive here.

He remembers a similar one placed on their family tomb, all those years ago. Left behind by a shaking hand, so small against the enormous and horribly cold stone. That same hand had refused his as they'd left the cemetery. Never reached out during the turbulence on the way back to Heathrow, not for him and not for Aunty Sashi.

Not for a long time.

He hates thinking about it.

Kento settles back around and crosses his arms to protect himself.

Finds his sister smiling, smirking really, at her friend. Still holding onto her, the energy between them lighter. He cant recall a time where she'd willingly been this physically close to someone, for this long.

_("Mummy I want a hug too! Kento, get out of the way!")_

Goodness, he misses them.

_("Stand up straight Kento. Stop slouching.")_

He straightens and drops his arms.

He needs to get them home. This place is too open for his liking. He's got a favour to cash in from an old friend, now that circumstances have changed. The hierachy had cost him his job, but it was going to keep Sara safe now. It's his last remaining card to play.

_("I have to. She's...important to me.")_

He can find another job.

 

\----------

 

"As if you need an actual official holiday to celebrate the creation of chocolate." Wato pokes lightly at Sherlock's chest. "That's just a regular Saturday night for you."

"I'll remember that the next time I feel like rewarding you with chocolate."

"Who says your my only--" Wato feels Sherlock stiffen against her, catches what turns out to be Kento approaching in the corner of her eye. The arms around her loosen immediately. She drops her own and is momentarily caught off guard when a hand remains on the small of her back. When Sherlock stays close.

She looks at her, but her attention is already fixed on her brother. Deliberately so.

_Typical_ , she thinks, as she rubs her eye.

"Hello Wato...I apologise for the deception of my sister. She tends to jump before thinking."

Sherlock snorts.

"Evidently." Wato says.

Kento looks mortified. Recovers quickly. "May I take your bags for you?"

He's already stepping around them, and Wato looks up at Sherlock, sees her thoroughly enjoying his embarrassment.

"Leave him alone." She reaches a hand up to lift a stray hair of hers from Sherlock's coat. "You can pay for my next haircut as well."

"How many amendments to this list of yours will there be?" Sherlock quips, bending down to pick up the Hermes coat.

"As many as there is."

Sherlock folds it and hands it to her, making a point to bow, agreement sealed with a smirk.

Wato grins to herself when the hand returns to her back.

\-----------

The rose is on the dashboard.

The rose is here.

Sherlock had--

Wato disappears back to the roof with it in her hand, with the gun slipping, with Reimon grabbing her, as she placed the rose on the spot where she'd screamed for--

She startles at the car boot slamming. Looks up. Sherlock has stepped into view, the back door open between them. Has read her completely.

"I'll get rid of it." Sherlock states.

"No!" Wato sees the alarm in Sherlock. She drops her voice to say  _it's fine_.

Covers a yawn as she gets into the back seat.

\----------

Kento catches Sherlock's eye over the top of the car, silently asking a question she doesn't know how to answer.

She frowns. Mouths _'can you put the rose on the seat'_.

All she gets from him is puzzlement.

She rolls her eyes. Points to herself and then points behind him to the spare back seat, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

_You're an idiot_ , she mouths.

She checks Wato's safely enclosed in the car before stepping onto the street.

Smiles at her brother as he opens her door.

"So considerate."

He huffs and she settles into the seat. Wrenches on the belt; it catches like she hoped it would, and she repeats the process, deliberately getting nowhere.

"You have to do it slower." Wato offers, attention grabbed.

"This stupid car doesn't like me." She continues wrenching, getting a little more of the belt.

"Let it go back and then pull slower."

Sherlock tries and tries. Sees Kento move the rose in the corner of her eye. Tries once more, then lets the belt go.

Clips it in perfectly the very next time.

"See? Exactly like I said."

"Noted," Sherlock says.

The satisfaction on Wato's face is worth it.

 

\----------

 

It doesn't last.

Sherlock notices.

Wato seems to have shrunk in the seat. Seems smaller. Folded up into herself.

Looks exhausted.

There's a speck of something on the outside of her window that's held her attention for entirely too long. Her hand's reached up to scratch it, then scratch it again, then rub it away with the sleeve of her coat.

Kento had tried to keep a conversation going with her, but Wato's shortening answers had been a blinding neon sign in the dark:

_Please leave me alone_.

That damn rose.

She should've left it up there.

She should've restrained herself from following Wato in the first place. Stuck with the plan she'd created, the one she'd followed through on.

There's a yellowing bruise on her hip as proof of what she'd been willing to do. What she'd just ruined because she'd let her emotions make a decision.

"This is a complete mess." It comes out harsher than she expects.

Wato looks at her, eyes narrowing. Her features pinch. Sherlock knows the anger's back.

"A mess you made in the first place." Wato pauses. "You can take me back to the train station, so you can continue this charade. I can just as easily pretend you're..."

The word never comes. Sherlock sees Wato catch herself, watches as the magnitude of death rushes over her. Sees the anger disappearing as sorrow fills its place.

Sees for herself in the eternity of a second what Wato's felt for a week.

How had she done this to her?

_Make this right_ , her brain screams.

Sherlock takes off her belt and slides into the middle seat. Coaxes Wato to her, catches her when she falls the rest of the way. Forgets the pain of the belt buckle digging into her knee. Takes no notice of her coat bunching up underneath her.

Hears nothing of the car beeping or Kento notifying her of that fact.

Only Wato.

"I thought you--because of me." Wato shakes in her arms.

Sherlock feels her heart ache and break and ache for her, tries to hold her tighter as she cries, as tight as she can.

"It was my decision. You didn't..."

"You were just gone, and I...I couldn't--I can't bear it."

"I'm here now, ssh sweetheart."

_("It's gonna be okay sweetheart. Daddy's here. I know it hurts, but can you be brave for me Sara?")_

Her fingers hurt. She wills the pain away.

It's only muscle memory, after all.

\----------

Kento pulls over and kills the engine. The beeping stops.

He waits patiently. Watches the world outside the car.

Listens to Sara calm Wato down. Listens to every inflection in her voice, every word of concern.

Hears how much Sara loves her.

Hears it in the silence afterwards.

He waits.

"I'm sorry Kento."

It stuns him.

It really shouldn't, he thinks.

She's acquiesced before; backed down after a heated argument; remembered her manners after behaving badly on his birthday.

Her silence usually spoke her remorse. He lets her get away with it, only because he knows how difficult it is for her.

He'd turn in his seat to look at her, but he knows she'd shut down right away, probably make a snide comment to cover up her vulnerability.

Kento lifts a hand to the rear view mirror instead. Asks if its alright for him to adjust it so he can see her.

Silence. Then a soft _yes_.

She's already looking at him -- head tilted over Wato's -- as he finds the right angle.

"What are you sorry for?" he asks quietly.

She breathes out and shuts her eyes. He watches her brush her cheek over Wato's hair once, twice.

"All of it," she finally says.

He knows she means it.

 

\----------

 

How he gets the seat belt between Sara and Wato, he'll never know.

Miracles happen every day.

 

\----------

 

Later, or maybe somewhere in between:

\- Mrs Hatano mistaking them for burglars ("what burglar has keys?!") and swinging a frying pan only to drop it on Kento's foot at the sight of her ("You brilliant, stupid, wonderful girl"),

\- Kento's subsequent whisper-swearing and near drop of a sleeping Wato (if Sherlock's eyes could kill),

\- Mrs Hatano fussing over the two of them, ice pack for Kento and the kindest, kindest words for her,

\- Kento's kiss to the top of her head at his departure, which she'd brushed off, but not really,

Sherlock had set about emptying the boxes in the apartment.

Pinning her drawings to the walls. Securing Wato's blanket around her again. Setting up her laptop and printer and desk. Spreading the Hermes coat over Wato's feet. Reorganising her ointments and toners and making a list of supplies she needed.

And, eventually, sitting on the floor amongst the books Mrs Hatano had packed, trying to decide if she actually did need them. Reworking each stack. Scrolling through the catalogue in her mind of all her other books to see if she could make some room.

Make some space for--

She looks over at the couch. Wato's still asleep. Completely unaware of this new mess she's made.

She needs to wake her, otherwise her circadian rhythm is going to be out. She'll be up during the night. Sherlock suspects she already has been, if today's exhaustion is any indicator.

She hates that she's part of the reason why.

Sherlock forces it away and resumes her work. She needs to get this sorted before it causes Wato any undue stress.

 

\---------

 

She gets nowhere.

The books go back in their boxes.

 

\----------

 

Deciding to wake Wato is very different from actually waking Wato, of course.

She gets as far as kneeling beside her elbow. Hand poised in the space between them.

She can't do it. Can't pull her back to reality, where they exist in the aftermath of Moriwaki and Moriya.

Where Wato's heart is broken.

She'd suspected something wasn't right with the pair of them. They'd been Wato's guests however, and societal expectations -- what she knew of them, or what she'd bothered to retain -- determined that she'd had to play nice. Wato had expected it, and Sherlock had wanted to prove she could be an actual adult.

Still.

She'd managed to insinuate his psychopathy. She'd caught him off guard with that, at least. Despite Wato's exceptionally made coffee and food that morning, the whole thing had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and had only sweetened once Wato had caught up with her outside.

He'd sounded perfectly charming in the snippets of conversation she'd heard between Mrs Hatano and Wato before that. She wonders just how much of his interest in Wato had been an extension of Moriwaki's interest in her; if he'd had any genuine feelings or if Moriwaki had pulled the puppet strings in that regard as well.

She hopes for Wato's sake that --

No.

That's worse.

That he'd felt affection for her and still injected the virus into his veins. That he'd fallen for her, knowing she was collateral damage.

Or that he'd loved her as she was being turned into a weapon.

And what part had she played in that herself?

Had her criticisms of Wato made her lean closer to the doctor for support? Had her lack of warmth -- of simple validation, of which she'd known Wato craved -- made Wato search for it somewhere else?

In someone else?

Sherlock feels her stomach lurch. Feels wobbly; sits down, getting off her aching knees. Puts her elbows up on the cushions and her head in her hands. Closes her eyes. Swallows hard.

_Breathe, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven, out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._

Sherlock repeats and repeats and -- there's something touching her hand.

She pulls her head back and finds a set of fingers closing around her own, arm snaked outside of a blanket and --

Wato.

Sluggish, trying to blink the sleep away, beautiful, oh so beautiful Wato.

Her heart soars.

It's out before she can comprehend it:

"I love you."

 

\----------

 

Kimie Hatano hears the three words through the apartment door.

Remembers a little girl with a bright red bow in her hair.

_("Bye Mrs Hats, I love you!")_

Sara.

 


	3. Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hope you'll stop me before I build a wall around me."  
> \- I Need A Forest Fire, James Blake feat Bon Iver
> 
> "It has always hurt. Saying it now or saying it later won't change that."

The sun is amazing.

That's her first thought.

Her second thought is that something is prickling her arms and legs.

The third and fourth thought come together, in an unexpected rhyme:

Something is running through my hair. My arms are bare.

Her mind closes in on the latter. Wato lifts a hand and touches her clothes, finds something soft and loose and--

A summer dress.

She shoots a hand up over her shoulder to her scar. Finds only the thinnest of dress straps there.

"Leave it Wato."

She feels it as well as hears it. Wato turns her head in the direction of the voice, already aware of who it is.

Sherlock.

Elbow up, hand underneath her head. Face obscured from Wato by the angle. By a white t-shirt with red roses on it.

Probably watching the sky.

Vanilla and lavender all around them.

It's Sherlock's hand in her hair, she realises. Careful, collected, and combing softly.

Lazily.

Wato sighs.

Brings her hand back down. Feels the grass beneath her fingers.

Closes her eyes and --

Her arm hurts.

_No._

Hurt is the wrong word. Something is pushing her arm. Pinning her arm.

She brings her hand up to find what it--

Sherlock is counting suddenly, the rhythm all wrong, breathless, like she's having a panic--

Wato startles awake.

Blinks.

Arm still--

Sherlock counting--

Sherlock beside--

Head in her--

Her hand latches onto the one in front of her and then there's Sherlock looking at her like she--

"I love you."

\--hung the moon in the sky.

She blinks once and feels Sherlock's words slam into her. Grasps the meaning behind the words with the look in Sherlock's eyes and--

_Oh._

But Sherlock is moving, tipping her head away, hair blocking her face, drawing back from the couch and--

Wato tightens her hold on those fingers. "Don't you dare."

Sherlock pauses on her knees for half a second, then rips her hand away, getting up, stumbling into the leather seat, recovering, moving further from--

Wato tears off the blanket and rushes after her. Stops when Sherlock's hand is on the door knob.

Thinks,  _not this time_.

"If you walk through that door I'm getting on a train tomorrow."

Wato sees Sherlock's hand still. Sees the weight of her words actually sink her shoulders. Sees her head drop until it's against the door frame.

And oh how she aches for her. Feels it in the pit of her stomach. In her chest. In her bones. Feels it appear at her eyes, wet and cold.

Recognises it from the rooftop. Before the gunshot and before that horrible count to three, it had materialised. It had bubbled up, shaken her like a leaf, left her trembling with the gun in her hands, her finger ready to--

Wato brushes two fists over her cheeks and steps forward. Steps closer and closer to this woman she aches for.

This woman she loves.

Wato comes up right behind her, and Sherlock stiffens. Knows she has to tread carefully because of it.

"Sherlock, I'm going to put my arms around you, if that's okay?"

The pause lasts too long, way past the point of acceptable. Wato feels her heart drop, realises she's read this wrong, that it couldn't possibly--

Two hands appear in front of her. Wato looks down at them and realises Sherlock has agreed. By reaching around behind herself, Sherlock has agreed.

Wato takes them quickly and feels fingers splay gently around her own, shifting in motion as her arms are drawn around a crisp shirt. Wato uses the movement to draw Sherlock from the door frame, back until she's flush against her. Her cheek finds the space just below Sherlock's collar and she breathes in deeply, letting the vanilla and lavender wash over her.

Takes a minute to find her voice. When she does, it's a whisper.

"Talk to me."

 

\----------

 

Sherlock realises that this is it. This is the moment she has to start the story, from beginning to horrible finish.

She squeezes Wato's hands and feels the arms around her tighten.

Clears her throat.

Begins.

"My name is Sara Shelly Futaba. I was born on Thursday the 1st of April 1982 at 12:01am, Greenwich mean time, to Koyo and Ikumu Futaba. I was six days late. My mother was convinced the clock in the operating theatre was fast, and up until my 10th birthday we celebrated it on March 31st. She did not wish for me to be an April Fool. I fear I am one despite her best efforts. I have one older brother named Kento Cornelius Futaba, born on Monday the 21st of July 1980. We have been orphans since--"

"Sherlock, you don't have to." Wato squeezes her hand.

"You deserve the truth."

"Not at the expense of it hurting you."

Sherlock sighs. Rubs a thumb over Wato's hand. Feels tears prickling at her eyes.

"It has always hurt. Saying it now or saying it later won't change that."

Wato hums. Sherlock feels her lift her head. Press a kiss to the base of her neck through her shirt. Feels her stay there, in support.

Her tears spill and she lets them.

"We have been orphans since Tuesday the 8th of December 1992, when Flight 501 from Tokyo to Osaka crashed into Mt Oike at 9:28am local time, 1:28am Greenwich mean time. It was determined that fatigue in the fuse pins holding the number 3 engine to the right wing caused it to give way, tearing into the number 4 engine, damaging the wing beyond operational use. It was also determined that the passengers were likely aware of their predicament in their final moments. Our parents were in seats 12B and 12C and felt every--"

Her voice breaks and she lets the sentence go.

Lets the lot of it go, and sobs.

 

\----------

 

(Thursday the 3rd of December 1992 is just another day in the life of ten year old Sara Futaba.

Until its not.

The action, of course, is something she's done dozens of times. Wait till Mummy or Daddy have parked the car in the garage. Take her seat belt off, open the car door, get out, shut the door.

But today is different. Today she rushes the action, for simply no reason at all.

Not to chase after Kento as she's prone to do, not for school, not because Mummy and Daddy are in a hurry, not for anything in particular.

The ring and pinky fingers of her right hand are yet to be clear when she slams the door, and they break on impact. A later x-ray will show the damage: a shear fracture to the middle phalanx of her ring finger and a dislocation of the distal inter-phalangeal joint of her pinky finger.

All Sara knows at this point in time is pain, the most excruciating pain she's ever felt.

The following Tuesday will eclipse this. Will burn itself into her ten year old brain, will change her in horrible, destructive ways. It will have her aching for her parents for the rest of her life.

But for now, Daddy is telling her she's a brave girl and holding her. Mummy is driving carefully, the way she always does. Kento is holding her other hand, in protective big brother mode.

Plans will be delayed, flights will be cancelled and rearranged, trains will be considered and inevitably not taken, and the world will move on.)

 

\----------

 

Wato turns Sherlock in her arms and pulls her close, as close as she can. Finds herself at Sherlock's ear, a little taller than where she'd found herself in Sherlock's arms this afternoon. Feels the sobs wrack Sherlock's body as she holds her.

Her own eyes flow freely with tears, in sorrow, in support, in horror at what has happened to her.

She can't say it's alright because its not.

She can't say you'll be fine because she suspects Sherlock won't ever be.

_I'll take you as you are_ , she thinks.

Wato closes her eyes and places a kiss to the start of Sherlock's jaw. Holds her lips there for a moment before whispering, "I love you."

Places another kiss further up, on the side of a wet cheek. Feels the moisture sink into her lips.

Whispers it again. "I love you."

Sherlock turns ever so slightly to her; Wato feels her breathing change, the sobs calming. She leans further up, kisses under Sherlock's eye. Catches tears still falling. Knows they're stemming. Knows Sherlock, tear by tear, is settling.

Whispers once again. "I love you."

She kisses the bridge of a nose. Marvels at Sherlock dropping her head slightly for it to happen. Whispers. Kisses under the other eye. The other cheek. Slowly down the underside of her jaw. One after the other. Whispers her declaration each time.

Calming. Careful.

"Wato." Her name, like a prayer.

She opens her eyes and finds Sherlock. Finds Sara peering back at her, eyes wet.

"Would you have left as well?"

_If you walk through that door I'm getting on a train tomorrow._

As well.

As well as her parents.

Guilt hits Wato. Has her sinking her fingers into Sherlock's back, trying to convey an apology. She knows she has to voice it.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"Will you?" Sherlock asks.

_Leave._

The word hangs there, unspoken. Wato swallows the lump in her throat, watches as Sherlock -- Sara -- waits for the answer, brave and beautiful and not backing down.

Despite the grief in her life, despite the pain, Sara is waiting for her.

Wato knows she's in love with her then.

She remembers Sherlock's promise to her. Knows she can offer one of her own.

"No. I will never leave you. I swear it."

For half a second she sees it register in Sherlock, then she's being kissed, and kissing back, and she forgets everything else except the feel of those lips against her own.

 

\----------

 

Oh what a sweet dream this is, Sherlock thinks.

Wato's lips, salty from her tears, from their tears, delicate, oh so delicate, drawing her in.

Wato's coat is discarded quickly then her own shirt is being untucked, Wato's hands grabbing and grabbing and sliding underneath her shirt.

Sherlock forgets everything and follows her lead and--

Wato freezes.

_No._

The scar.

Sherlock immediately slides her hands back down to Wato's waistband and opens her eyes. Sees the apology there in those beautiful brown ones. Knows she should be the one apologising.

"I'm sorry. We can stop." Sherlock says quietly, drawing her forehead to Watos. Just to be close to her.

"No, I just...I need to say something."

"You can say anything."

Sherlock sees Wato's eyes glass over, as if she's gone somewhere else in her mind, as if she's said something jarring--

Moriwaki.

Sherlock straightens on instinct. "Wato?"

The woman jolts in Sherlock's arms, breath catching. Back to the present but shaking.

"Hey, what is it?" Sherlock asks, careful of her tone.

"She...I--showed her my--I showed her. What kind of idiot am I to think she was--"

Sherlock tightens her hold of Wato. "You're not--"

"And I let him...touch me." Wato says it with disgust. "I couldn't get, I couldn't wash him off of--"

"Wato, they're gone. He's--how many showers did you have?"

"What?"

Sherlock silently prompts her.

"I--I lost count."

"If its that many then I can scientifically state with no room for error that no part of him is left on you, okay? That's not how water and soap work."

"I just--" Wato exhales loudly. "I was so--"

"I know. It's alright. They fooled lots of people, remember?"

Wato nods after a while. Sherlock brushes her nose to Wato's, gets the corners of her mouth to turn a little upward. Thinks about her next words to her.

"You're thinking." Wato states quietly.

"Yes. As I'm prone to do."

A little bit more of the smile shows. "Tell me."

"I was just contemplating how to--I know I haven't been very open with you, but I think, starting now..."

Sherlock trails off, hoping her words are understood.

She sees Wato take them on board, sees her eyes brighten considerably. Feels it in the kiss she offers.

"Unbutton my shirt." Wato says a moment later, their lips a breath apart.

Sherlock lifts her hands. Finds the first button and pops it back. Finds the second as Wato's tongue peaks out, tasting. Teasing.

The kiss deepens as she pops each button.

Then, it's open. Her hands still. Sherlock won't move them, not until Wato says so. Not until this kiss ends.

Which, if she had her way, would never.

 

\----------

 

Wato's hands spread over Sherlock's lower back, warm skin melding with the tips of her fingers, and she feels Sherlock shiver.

Remembers what she was getting Sherlock to do.

She draws herself slowly out of the kiss, and chuckles at Sherlock's actual whine of protest. Pulls her hands down and out, and turns herself away from Sherlock.

Closes her eyes. Feels Sherlock's breath on her hair, short and staggered already.

"Take my shirt off." Saying the words, she realises she's just as out of breath.

A sharp inhale comes, then there's hands gathering up her hair, soft and caring, lifting it over her left shoulder, like Sherlock already--

"How?" Wato asks.

"Sometimes you adjust your right bra strap, but never the other. You also strongly favour your brown handbag over your shoulder bag."

Of course.

Sherlock places a kiss to her bare neck. Hands have reached up to pull the shoulders of her shirt away, and she helps let it go, feeling it fall from her arms.

Then she's exposed.

"Oh Wato." Sherlock utters.

"I was tending to an elderly woman - Ranin, her name was - who had a gash just under her knee. The bleeding had slowed, but it needed stitches. She was fine otherwise. She would've..."

Wato pauses. Tries to think about it clinically, without the emotion attached.

"I was bent forward working on her leg when the bomb went off. Her husband Hayyan had been sitting behind me and was blown into me. I was told a piece of glass had dug a crater in my--it was still embedded in there when they found me, but he...the projectile damage was too great for both of them. I crawled out from underneath..."

Wato shakes her head at the memory of dust and their blood on her.

Sherlock's arms wrap around her bare waist, a nose coming to rest near her right ear. Wato takes comfort from it, drawing her own hands up to cover Sherlock's.

"People were screaming. I knew I was hurt but there was a boy with blood on him--his mother was pleading for me to help him, but I couldn't think--I couldn't remember what to do. He was put on a stretcher and that's the last thing I remember. I woke up in a hospital bed with 26 stitches in my back."

"You were in shock."

"Yes."

"And you flew home with those stitches still in you."

Wato is surprised by the statement but goes with it. "Yes. It was against medical advice, but I didn't care. I needed to leave." "

And then Dr Mizuno..."

"Yes."

Sherlock pulls away suddenly and Wato's left standing there in her bra and pants, wondering what's happened. She turns to find Sherlock looking at the door, then to her desk chair, then back.

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

" _'_ All you care about is comfort. No fashion sense.' " Sherlock says it to herself, lost wherever she is.

Wato remembers the words from three months ago. Remembers being angry and exasperated at Sherlock, thinking if only she--

Sherlock's mind is there. On the fact that she hadn't known. Had interpreted Wato's clothes that day as a lack of sophistication, not necessity. It had taken 10 minutes for her to put on and button her shirt that day. She'd busted two stitches with that damn back pack and then helping Sensei.

Wato wraps a hand around her wrist. Sherlock looks at her.

"I didn't know."

"I know that Sherlock."

"I figured it out later, but I didn't...you were hurt and I insulted you."

"Yes. You did." Wato pauses. "Should I put my shirt back on?"

Wato watches Sherlock come back from her thoughts; sees the exact moment she realises she's left her standing there half undressed. Has to laugh at how flustered she becomes.

"No! I mean--you can, if you want to. We can--"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Turn some lights on and take the rest of my clothes off."

 

\----------

 

Sherlock does as she's told.

Gets stripped of hers at the same time.

Never stops kissing her, kissing her skin.

Ends up on the couch with Wato in her lap, trying to touch every inch of her at exactly the same time.

Fails.

Curses herself for only having two hands.

Finds it doesn't matter, because Wato's guiding one of them between her--

Sherlock's brain goes into overdrive.

 

\----------

 

The fingers on her are deliberately slow. Wato moans into Sherlock's mouth, canting her hips forward, wanting more, needing--

 

\----------

 

"Inside--please Sara."

Her name on Wato's lips goes right to her core, sends a tremble through her, has her fingers stalling for half a second.

Wato groans her displeasure in her ear and it's enough to restart her, have her complying with the request.

Gently, carefully, and fully.

Wato sighs her appreciation, long and full of desire.

It spurs her on.

 

\----------

 

Eyes unexpectedly water.

"I nearly lost you, I nearly--"

"Ssh...I'm here--you can feel me, can't you?"

A nod.

More delicious pressure.

Pleasure.

A deep moan.

"I'm here, just--keep going."

 

\----------

 

"Wato...say my name."

Nails scratch down her back.

"Sara...Sara."

 

\----------

 

Wato's getting closer, closer to the precipice, Sherlock's fingers reaching up inside of her, palm against her, so good, so very good--

The other hand is steady, supporting, at the base of her back, always there, always--

Teeth and tongue on her nipples, on her skin, sharp and soothing, bolts of lightning to the centre of her, pushing her further along, further to--

 

\----------

 

"Wato, Wato, look at me..."

Brown eyes find hers.

She must get it out.

She must.

"I love you--every part of me loves, every part..."

Then Wato's falling, and Sherlock falls right along with her.

 

\----------

 

Later, but not too much later, Wato taps a finger to Sherlock's collarbone.

"This is some elaborate plan to distract me from dinner and the laundry, isn't it?"

Sherlock, who is tucking the blanket around Wato and herself, smiles.

"Pizza or curry?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you're in deep when you create an entire headcanon around a certain someone's wonky little finger.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments over these 3 chapters. It's been therapeutic.
> 
> Assertive!Wato for the win!


End file.
